Stuff Happens
by TrinJ
Summary: E/C/R steamy romance. Modern day setting in Bath. Christine studies English, while Eric studies creative writing. A mysterious voice speaks to Christine, who she believes to live in the neighbouring terraced house. Scarred from an attack in his teens, while Eric ever be able to let go? Raoul (Rob) complicates things when he appears on the scene. Some stuff happens. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

**AN Please let me know what you think of this, I am writing another POTO fanfic right now called "Music of the Light" but I have planned this one out a bit more so hopefully it will be less crap. Rated M for later scenes - things are going to get steamy folks! _Italics indicate a flashback but I will alsp put (FB) in italics beforehand_**

Christine woke to the first few strains of Elvis' "All Shook Up" and groaned. She had hit snooze far too many times now.

Rolling out of bed, Christine was thankful that she had thought to pack her lunch last night - tuna and cucumber sandwiches and a packet of hula-hoops. Uni had water coolers she could get a drink from so no need to pack one.

Her 'scandal and sobriety' seminar was at 9 but she had to leave at quarter past eight to get the free bus that was a short walk from her house in a popular student area of Bath.

Christine had half an hour to eat a banana, have a cup of tea and sort out her short brown curly locks.

These plans were thwarted when she learned she was out of lactose free milk. Black coffee then.

Humming to herself, Christine smiled when her house mate Heather padded into their small kitchen.

"You had a good night then?" Christine asked, waiting for the kettle.

Heather shoved a stray lock of hair out of her face roughly. She looked a little green.

"I spent way too much money, but drunk me left sober me some chow mein, so that was a nice surprise".

The kettle boiled.

"Mmm, i haven't had a chinese in ages. Want some tea?" Christine replied wistfully. She couldn't justify it right now. Maybe next month.

"No thanks, I just came down for water. I'm going back to bed!" Heather wandered back to her room upstairs.

On the way out, Christine locked the door and noticed something poking out of the plastic box that recycling went into.

She pulled it out curiously, though if she lingered any longer she would miss the bus. The piece of paper had her name on it in messy hand writing. It was sheet music for "La Pastorella Del Alpi" an opera song in Italian. She knew it vaguely from when she had singing lessons when she was fifteen, but she was so cripplingly shy that her mother had decided there was no point in the lessons if she did nothing with her voice. Christine hadn't protested but she had loved her lessons, the way the music could change her mood so quickly.

Back to the matter at hand, Christine folded the music back up and slotted it into "Tess of the D'ubervilles". Walking through the light drizzle, Christine wondered who on earth had left it for her. Neither of the girls in the house knew that she could sing - it wasn't a secret, it just never came up.

And they wouldn't have left it in the recycling bin. It also occurred to her, as she crossed the road, that the paper had been fairly dry. So it couldn't have been there long. The mysterious music giver was either watching the house or knew she left at quarter past the hour.

The somewhat curious case lingered in her mind for the rest of the day. Throughout her lecture she wondered who this person could be - why hadn't they just given it to her?

Lunch came and went, followed by a meeting with her mentee, Lara. Her italian accent was soothing as she told Christine she was stressed, but otherwise doing alright.

Then an hour long environmental society meeting which was really just a handful of people watching documentaries about global warming with some snacks in an empty lecture hall.

When Christine finally got home, it was dark. Her house mate Meg's bedroom light was on, but she detected a deep male voice. So she ate alone and went to bed, still wondering who was watching her.

ERIC

Christine bent down to pick up the gift he had left for her, hair swinging forward as she did so, obscuring her face. Eric wished he could see her eyes as she read the title but as she straightened up, folding it in half to slot into a book to prevent creasing, the ghost of a smile played across her lips. She liked it!

Making a mental note that she liked italian pieces of that era, Eric finished up his pretence of tying the shoe lace of one of his soggy grey converse and stood up to his full height. Tall and slim, he easily slipped through the crowds of students in Oldfield Park. But days like today, where the rain kept most students in bed, it was harder to hide his face. His face. Eric scowled, pulling his hat down lower and wishing the wind would stop blowing his hair everywhere - he needed his hair to cover what the make up couldn't.

 _'Don't worry about it son', his Dad had said. 'The ladies like a distinctive face. And yours sure is distinctive now...' His dad's voice trailed off, losing its' chummy tone. His step mother sighed._

 _"Why did you go to that silly bar anyway, you were itching for a fight. And now look what's happened'. She had little pity for Eric and reserved soft spots in her heart only for her designer dogs and the designer purses the unfortunate pooches travelled around in._

 _Eric swallowed. He knew life would be different now. Even as he left the hospital, where people were used to the sick and dying, the scars attracted stares._

Coming back to the present, Eric realised with a happy jolt that he was getting the same bus as Christine. Not that she would notice. She was in her own world, thinking about something. He hoped it wasn't a boy. No one deserved her love. She was so perfect.

The bus pulled up to uni, brakes screeching. Everyone trundled off, umbrellas and hoods alike going up. Eric sighed, brushing his hair into his face once more, and began mentally preparing for the droning voices of overpaid fools to tell him what he already knew.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN- "Rob" is based on Raoul, but I changed the name as it's not one I've ever heard outside of POTO and I wanted one that was a bit more subtle. Please leave me a review if you have the time, would love to know what you think (good or bad reviews welcome!)**

"Hi" a male voice from the doorway made Christine jump, almost dropping her spoon into her cereal bowl. A man she had never met before leaned confidently in the door way with a grin on his face, presumably at the fact that her pajamas were scruffy and had sausage dogs printed on them in multi-coloured whimsicality.

Meg wandered in, saving Christine from having to make an attempt to reply with some pleasantries.

"Ah Christine, I see you've met Rob. I have to dash, he is making his own way home!" Meg punched him on the arm and disappeared from the kitchen, leaving the semi-strangers alone once more.

Meg's habit of abandoning her one night stands to fend for themselves was something of a bad habit but they never lingered and were usually quite content to wander home in whatever clothes they had got there in the night before.

"Sooo….how do I get back home from here? I guess I should have paid attention on the way here but…" the man – Rob – shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh. Well I don't know where you live but if you get the ten into town I'm sure you can work it out from there. The next one is in about fifteen minutes but the bus stop is right outside so you can sit for a bit if you like".

"Oh that's worked out well then. What was your name sorry?" He smiled. Christine had to hand it to Meg, last night's catch was pretty easy on the eyes. Blond wavy hair accompanied dark brown eyes, straight teeth, good skin and an acceptable amount of stubble.

"Christine".

"Nice to meet you Christine!"

"Uh you too…" his enthusiasm was a little obnoxious.

"You know what, the bus sometimes comes a bit early, you should probably get going pretty soon. Do you need a glass of water or anything? I have to get going to uni" Ever the hostess, Christine couldn't help but feel awkward knowing that he had slept with her housemate, possibly only half an hour or so ago.

"No I'm good thanks. Thanks for letting me stay in the warm for a bit".

Christine smiled. He was polite too!

"No problem. I'm off to get the fifteen so I'll lock the door and stuff. Nice to meet you!" He was out the door by this time, walking down the street, but he waved a hand to acknowledge he had heard her.

Christine wasn't too sure what to make of this chap. But it didn't matter as she supposed she would never be seeing him again – Meg rarely invited her male friends round for a second time. Pushing the semi-stranger out of her mind, Christine focused on her classes for the day ahead.

Her core religion lecture was at two oclock but she wanted to get some work done for English first – as a combined honours student she loved that she got to do what she loved, but sometimes it was hard to balance things. The English side had fewer hours in actual classes but more reading, whereas religion was vice versa. Her grades were about equal in both so the current strategy of going in early to read and study before each lecture was paying off.

Along the walk to the bus stop, Christine wondered where her degree was actually taking her. She was getting herself into thousands of pounds of debt for what? A three year delay in having to decide what she wanted to do with her life? Her dreams of being a singer had died when she lost her confidence during her awkward teenage years due to acne-induced bullying and a belief that she was not good enough. And really, she wasn't – her breathing had gone to pot since she stopped lessons and with it, her drive to succeed as a singer. No one listened to classical anymore anyway – except for weddings and funerals or charity events. So that was out. Teaching was the next best thing in her mind – preferably lecturing, but that needed a lot of confidence too.

Thinking about confidence reminded Christine she had a presentation next week on Clarissa – a huge book she had been reading for her core English module. It was only a pass/fail presentation but it was stressful as her group argued a lot. She tried to pacify them with cake when they met up but they would just argue on their group chat online instead, which was incredibly frustrating. Everyone had different opinions on where to meet, what activities to get the class to do as part of the led seminar and other details that didn't really matter but seemed to matter a great deal.

Then that lead Christine to think about her parents and how they used to fight before they divorced – her mother had been unfaithful to her dad so Christine didn't really see her anymore. A few years after their divorce, Christine's dad had been killed in an accident with a Lorry on the motorway five years ago. He had been killed instantly. She missed him.

She was still so deep in thought that she almost missed her stop on the bus home: someone else pressed the button and she noticed only when the fifteen pulled up to Sainsburys and people started getting off that it was her bus stop too.

It had been a long day and she was looking forward to eating her lasagne and reading in bed. She decided to have a quick look at that song her mysterious stranger – as she now called them in her head – had left for her. She knew it from her lessons all that time ago, and it would be nice to feel the stretch and flex of her vocal chords again as she sang. It was like exercising a muscle you haven't used in a while – it felt refreshing and healthy, and the resulting sounds were pleasing. Although her breath control was shabby, Christine missed music. She vowed that she would practise more often and maybe find some exercises on YouTube that would help her learn even more about how to strengthen her sound and extend her range. She couldn't afford a new teacher, and it would be fun to teach herself again, to take her mind off the melancholy that settled over her sometimes. Christine often felt isolated as she wasn't like other students – not a big drinker, she just wanted to get her degree and make friends, but she was so cripplingly shy that even going to her classes was a struggle sometimes. Her Monday class had a particularly intimidating lecturer, who assumed that silence meant a lack of knowledge in his class. On more than one occasion he had assumed that no one had done the work and stormed out for fifteen minutes "until one of you has something to say" when in reality, everyone had done the seminar prep, they just didn't want their ideas torn into shreds in front of their peers.

But anyway, that didn't matter right now. Right now, Christine needed sleep, not all these busy thoughts circling round in her head. Often, she lay awake thinking about the most banal things – what food she had in the fridge and when she might need to do laundry and things about her course and worrying about anyone in her small circle of friends that might having problems in life, which she always listened to with great care. It was tiring being so switched on, and eventually she drifted off comfortably…

ERIC

Christine had been very distracted today. What would have happened if he hadn't noticed and pushed the button on the bus so she got off? Well she could have just rode the route into town and got the ten. But it would have knocked her confidence, as Eric knew she hated public transport.

Eric's day had been slow - two lectures, with an hour break in between. He had a portfolio of short stories due soon. Most of them were about a short, stocky girl with short brown curly hair and the voice of an angel...

He heard her sing his song last night. _Not your song, dumbass_ he chided himself. _Just a song you left her in a bin. Very romantic._

Her voice had made him feel something he had never felt since before the fight that changed his life forever. He felt hope, his mood lifting with every soaring movement of her voice. And she had to feel it too, surely everyone felt this way about music?

He had to find more songs for her, some that would suit her perfectly and others that would stretch her in terms of genre and style and language, and he would teach her. _You really think she would let a total stranger, who will never let her see their face, teach her how to sing? Yeah right._ Eric's inner critic was back. He brushed the hateful voice aside. He would find a way to teach her. He vowed that by next week, they would have met in some form or another, and she **would** sing for him. She had to.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN - thank you so much for reviewing! it means a lot to me! You probably saw that this fan fic is rated M but I will warn you, things might get a little more spicy from here onwards (nothing weird/kinky, just horny students living their lives! nothing to see here people!) Hope you enjoy. xx**

Ch 3

Christine read the note again, somewhat baffled. She presumed it was from her musical stranger, who had left her another piece of music, then today this note. She had held it crumpled in her hand as she walked to the bus stop, heart racing. She was surprised the sweat in her palm hadn't smudged the ballpoint message. But no, there it was.

 _Hello Christine. You have a beautiful voice. I would love to hear more of it. Please sing in your room tonight. I will hear you._

 _-a friend_

It had no signature, nothing to give away the sender except the same scruffy handwriting that had indicated that the previous two communications were for her. Was it a man or woman? How old? How did they know about her existence? Christine was not exactly huge on the University scene, other than in the societies she attended, but they were fairly quiet compared to huge clubs like cocktail society. They surely lived nearby, seeing as they said "I will hear you".

Christine shuddered, and not entirely from the cold. What would happen if she did not comply with this strange request? What would happen if she did?

There was no way in hell she could confide in Meg or Heather, her housemates, about this. Meg would spread it in no time, and Christine would finally appear on the social radar, which was the last thing that Christine wanted. She loved that she could get on a crowded bus and know nobody, able to read her book in peace without having to make conversation.

And Heather had enough going on with her family – her parents were going through a messy divorce, her family dog that she had loved since infancy was dying slowly and her older sister had just lost her job.

No, Christine would keep this to herself. This person had done nothing to harm her – it was flattering that someone wanted her to sing for them, if a little terrifying.

All their correspondence, if it could be called that, had been through the bin area. But tomorrow was Bin day, and this would no longer work. Where could she put a reply so that her "friend" would find it? If they could hear her sing, they would surely hear her speak. She could talk to them and ask them who they were. Perhaps they would sing back?

After a steamy shower – which, in student housing, was a rare blessing – Christine wandered into her basement room. If her friend could hear her sing, did that mean they could see her too?

 _Don't be stupid. All the curtains are drawn. Unless they are a fly, or peeking through a non-existent hole in the wall they can see nothing._ Christine scolded herself, and dropped her towel.

 **Eric**

 _Oh dear lord in heaven I should not be watching this I should not be looking. Shit, she's stunning, I can't look away. I'm going to hell. This is not how I planned this, she was meant to sing, not strip. Get a grip! Turn away! But she looks so good…_

Eric pinched his thigh, the pain enough to distract him from the growing problem in his jeans. _Think about knitting grandmas. That's better._ The urge went with some more deep breaths, but Eric was furious with himself.

 _So not only are you a stalker now, you're a pervert. You could go to prison for this._

A wonderful sound from through the wall diverted his attention once more. She was wearing a pink fluffy dressing gown (this both pleased and disappointed him) and had started doing some kind of vocal warm up. It sounded rusty, but that was what warm ups were for! It pleased him that she took care of her voice this way.

Having warmed up, she launched into the first song he had given her, La Pastorella Del Alpi. It was even better than the first time she sang it. When Christine's voice soared effortlessly to the top Gs, Eric's heart soared with it. She sang both verses, to his pleasure.

The next song, which he had gifted only yesterday, needed work. Ridente La Calma had some challenging aspects to it, but Eric suspected Christine was tired as she yawned between verses. He longed to tell her that she could stop if she wished, but he would be lying. He did not want her to stop, and he did not want her to hear his voice. So she sang on.

Once the two songs were down, she ran through her warm ups again, and that was it. Performance over. But then, she adopted a strange stance, addressing the ceiling.

"hello? I um..I guess you can hear me somehow. I just wanted to say thanks for the music. It's bins day tomorrow so if you were going to leave any more it will get lost. Not that you have to leave more. I just meant if you were…." She trailed off, obviously feeling incredibly awkward. Eric had to stifle a chuckle – she wanted to talk to him! She said thank you! Happiness coursed through him, though he hated that he got such a rush from what could easily be called stalking. But he couldn't meet her, she wouldn't understand him. She would want to see his face….He could not allow that to happen.

He watched her potter around her room in her dressing gown, tidying up, writing coursework dates in her diary, until she fell asleep.

 **Christine**

The sound of the bin lorry woke Christine. She did not race outside to see if there was music left for her – she had a feeling her phantom friend, as she called them, had heard her.

Sure enough, when she went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, Christine noticed something orange outside the back door. Folding her dressing gown around her more tightly, she opened the door and saw that it was a plastic box, about A4 in size. Inside was another piece of music, and a note.

 _I know that you hope to learn who I am. But I am bad. Work on your breathing with the exercises outlined below. –Your friend_

Below was a simple breathing exercise – to breathe in for a count of say, seven, then hold for seven, then breathe out for seven, increasing the time as you went. It seemed that her "friend" knew what they were talking about.

The presence of the box unnerved her – it had obviously been bought for this purpose. It still had the barcode on the side, soggy from the dewy morning. It looked just like the many boxes stacked outside what she fondly called 'the Junk Shop' on Moorland Road, just down the hill from her house. It would be easy to go and ask the man who had bought an orange box from him recently.

 _But your stranger said that they were bad. They don't want to be found._

It would be unfair to pursue them when they had gone to such lengths. Well, not huge lengths but they had bought this box and photocopied music for her. She had to repay them by doing something nice, not by invading their privacy.

Heather's voice calling her name jerked Christine out of her reverie.

"Do you want tea?"

"Yes please!" Christine shouted back up the stairs. Locking the back door behind her, Christine realised that this meant her phantom friend had been on their property now. He could get in to their garden very easily. The thought was unnerving, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

Heather and Meg were both in the kitchen. Christine held her mug in both hands as they talked about something – She heard Rob's name a couple of times. _Nice guy,_ she remembered.

"What about you Christine?"

"hmm?"

"What are you doing today?"

"Oh. Just errands you know – washing, changing my bed, getting some stuff from Little Sainsburys. Do you guys want anything?" Christine hoped they wouldn't ask for anything heavy like drinks: Her housemates both declined her offer and went to jog together. Christine strongly believed that it should be illegal to jog on a weekend but Heather was doing the Bath Half (marathon) and needed to train for it , and Meg loved any excuse to run.

Christine's phone _bing_ ed as she washed up her stripey mug. She had been invited to go for drinks at the local Wetherspoons (known as 'spoons' for short – no matter where it was, all Wetherspoons pubs were so named)– with clubbing after but that didn't appeal to her. She replied yes, and wondered how many drinks she could afford tonight. Thankfully it didn't take much to get her tipsy!

The day passed in a blur, and she was soon hopping into the shower to refresh herself before slipping into some black jeans and a nice top in an unusual burnt orange colour. It didn't really suit her figure but it was still pretty with some jewellery. Clothes were only to cover up the bits other people weren't meant to see, as far as Christine was concerned, so she tended to chose for colour rather than cut/style. As long as she felt good in something, Christine didn't care if people despaired over her clothes. And she did feel good in this outfit. She was ready!

Eric

Christine's social media presence made him worry. She had checked in to Wetherspoons pub a while ago and Meg was posting some pictures of her that were a cause for concern. Her eyes were droopy despite very few empty glasses in front of her. The way she slumped in her chair implied her limbs were not working as she was expecting. All her friends were clearly finding it very funny that quiet, kind Christine was 'shitfaced' but it was no laughing matter. In the background of one photo, Eric spotted a familiar face.

Someone he suspected of putting something into girl's drinks and then following them home. Christine and her lack of drinking experience were the perfect target – she wouldn't even know she had been drugged, she would just assume she was drunk. And – although her would-be attacker wouldn't have guessed, Eric knew Christine was just the sort of person that would walk home alone so her friends could stay out and enjoy themselves.

Shit.

 _You're insane_ he told himself as he grabbed a jacket. Eric couldn't get his converse laced up fast enough. Keys, phone, wallet. And a spare jacket for her….

Thanking whoever was listening in the sky for the invention of social media, Eric ran. He only hoped he wasn't too late…..


	4. Chapter 4

**hi guys. Sorry i've been gone so long - had a tonne of work to do for uni and i've gone and bagged myself a new man so that's been taking up a fair bit of time too :) I just wanted to warn y'all that, if you hadn't guessed, there will be some unpleasant themes in this chapter and later on in the book there will probably be some sexy times. So just a heads up for that. Hope you enjoy, I would love to know what you think as I'm very new to writing fanfiction and am open to suggestions/edits.**

 **trigger warning rape/violence**

Christine felt strange. Her body wouldn't cooperate with what she was telling it to do. She felt as though someone could have dropped an elephant on her and she wouldn't feel it. Was this what being drunk was like? Squinting, she tried to count the empty glasses in front of her. There weren't that many but how many was 'many'? It depended on the drink didn't it? Two vodka cranberries wasn't much according to Meg's mocking tone.

She needed fresh air, it was so stuffy in there. Once she got some of the cool breeze on her face she would sober up, Christine decided. She staggered to the door and tripped over something on the floor – a plastic shot glass.

Strong hands caught her under her arms.

"Whoops a daisy, careful there Miss" an unfamiliar voice said. She tried to focus on his face but couldn't. Was it someone she had been sitting with at the table?

"S-sorry" she slurred. Now that she squinted, Christine was sure it was just a kindly stranger.

"No harm done. Allow me to escort you to wherever you were going" he smiled down at her, and moved some hair out of her face that she hadn't noticed was half in her mouth. _How embarrassing._ The thought barely stirred in the back of her brain. His strong arms guided her towards the door.

The door opened and cold air rushed into her lungs. It felt nice but didn't clear her head as much as she had hoped.

"I know somewhere more fun we can go, come on".

"My friends-" she managed to blurt out.

"They won't mind, they know me. It's okay" he smiled – possibly. Panic started to set in but there was no adrenaline rush, just a numb kind of fear in the knowledge that her limbs were so weak he could easily carry her away wherever he liked.

"You ….know my friends?" It seemed possible – Meg seemed to know everyone. But why hadn't he come over before? Christine wasn't stupid. And she was slowly starting to suspect that she wasn't drunk at all.

Whatever was wrong with her, it managed to prevent panic setting in. All she could dredge up from the depths of the foggy swirls of her brain was that something bad was going to happen and there wasn't much she could do.

"Sure I do, I'll send them a message and tell them to meet us there". He smiled reassuringly – or at least Christine imagined that he did, as she couldn't really focus on his face.

"My place is just a couple of streets away, we can take a short cut". He kept his strong arm around her shoulders and half dragged her down an alley that even in her confused state made alarm bells ring. It was dark and dingy and probably littered with condoms, needles and despair.

"I don't…want to….no"

ERIc

Eric had never run so fast, nor so desperately. Town was a twenty minute walk but there just wasn't time for a casual stroll. What if he was too late? What if this creep was already shoving her into his car or into an alley somewhere with her…his Christine.

Bile rose in his throat, which he swallowed – no time for a weak stomach now. People stared as his converse slapped the pavement with each pounding stride of his long legs.

After what seemed like a thousand of these thumping heavy steps, Eric could see the road where the pub Christine had been in was situated.

He slowed, anxious not to scare off the attacker lest he drag her somewhere else or drive off with her.

A glance through the glass front of the pub told Eric she was no longer there. Where the hell had he taken her?! Was he too late?

There was an alley that Eric thought the perfect place to drag a drugged woman and hurt her. There! They were there! He had her shoved against a wall, hands in her shirt, undoing the buttons. He was taking his time, confident that she couldn't run and that they wouldn't be disturbed. Had Eric not known the situation and seen the way Christine's head hung dopily, he would have thought he had happened upon two lovers. But no. This was attempted rape.

"no" she was mumbling, her hands weakly trying to push him away. Eric crept closer with catlike grace. He was going to enjoying beating the shit out of this scumbag. Rage bubbled from inside him and travelled down his fist into where it connected suddenly with the attacker's lower back. Then his head, stomach, balls and wherever else his fists would connect, again and again and again until his knuckles stung and he felt blood on them that was not his own. It felt so good.

Wiping sweat from his face, Eric stood back and surveyed the motionless excuse for a human being on the ground in front of him. A whimper from nearby reminded him that Christine needed comfort right now, not vindication. Their eyes locked, hers dilating wildly at the sight of his bloody hands and..

His face. Shit. If she hadn't been drugged she would surely have run.

"Christine. It's okay. You're safe now". Only a lunatic would believe him. And now he had revealed that he knew her name. Shit.

"shhh, it's ok" he repeated, leaning her against the wall more comfortably. She was terrified , shivering and could barely speak, though because of fear or the drugs Eric couldn't tell. Their eyes met again and Eric noted how her eyes darted around his face in the semi-darkness.

"I was in a bar fight a few years ago. It's ok" Eric murmured, forcing a bitter smile. _You're meant to reassure her, not tell her your life story, asshole._ Right.

"Let's get you covered up and somewhere warm". Her shirt was unbuttoned still, and though he averted his eyes Eric could see she wore a pink lacy bra. Shrugging out of his trench coat, he swathed her in it and did up the buttons and belt. She flinched when he had to get close to her to do this, but made no sound.

Eric decided he would call his housemate Nadir, a student from Persia who could drive and owed him a few favours.

An arm around her, they walked slowly to a café where Eric ordered a hot chocolate for Christine and nothing for himself. The sugar would do her good.

The spoon rattled against the cup as she stirred it, attempting nonchalance.

"Are you alright?" He leaned forward a little, hating how he made her flinch. Christine shrugged and sipped the drink.

"I'm just going to make a call for someone to take you home".

"I can walk…" she mumbled. The first words she had spoken in his presence. Eric just ignored her – she knew she couldn't walk home, she was just trying to be polite. But it was bloody annoying all the same.

The Persian picked up after two rings. "Nadir? It's Eric, are you home?"

"I am home. Why do you ask?" His friend's thick Persian accent caressed the words.

"Can you pick me and a friend up from the Odeon?" His leg jigged under the table impatiently but the remainder of his body upheld his façade of calm.

"Sure no problem. I'll be there in ten minutes". Eric hung up with no response. He wanted to use this time to talk to her. He still couldn't believe that she was sat across the table from him. Drinking a hot chocolate he had bought her and wearing his coat. She seemed determined not to be rattled by her experience but Eric was sure she would fall apart later. Her hands shook but her will was strong though. She would be alright.

Christine

Her rescuer, who she suspected she was no stranger to, as he was to her, examined her intently. His coat smelled musky, nothing like the beer breath of…that man. Her attempted rapist. She would not shy away from the word. That is what he was. That is what he was going to do. And now she was safe and he was lying in the dirt where he belonged.

They sat in silence while she sipped. The hot chocolate was sickly sweet but at least it wasn't alcohol. Though she had to concentrate to speak, Christine wanted to know more.

"how do you know my name?"

"I heard one of your friends called you Christina in the pub". His error made her relax. He didn't really know her after all.

"it's just Christine" she said, smiling a little and dropping her guard.

"oh, sorry" he murmured sheepishly. His hair was brushed into his face more now but she could still see he was disfigured and scarred. It fascinated her. He wasn't unattractive but he wouldn't meet her gaze and Christine found it disconcerting. As though he had something to hide. He obviously hated himself for something.

His iphone buzzed on the table.

"Our ride is here" he murmured softly, moving her now-empty hot chocolate mug to the end of the table.

"You expect me to get in a car with a stranger after what just happened?" Her saviour laughed.

"I hardly think someone would rescue you only to hurt you themselves. Sounds awfully complicated". He seemed so gentle but Christine had just watched him beat a man to a pulp in front of her. He still had dried blood on his knuckles. Accepting the lift would mean he would see where she lived….unless she got him to drop her at the bottom of her road and she would wait until they drove off.

"ok…" she mumbled apprehensively. Then she realised she was being incredibly rude.  
"Thank you for saving me, and for the hot chocolate and your coat". He didn't say anything, just looked into her eyes intensely for a moment and nodded. Strange man.

Their ride was a white fiat punto parked by the cinema. The two friends exchanged a look but other than sirens in the distance, there was no noise or talking. The night was crisp and calm. The driver was silent and though it was hard to see his face in the dark, Christine could see he was dark skinned and handsome. Although she had given no directions, so far he drove the correct route. Perhaps he just assumed she lived where all the student houses were, and he was right.

"if you stop on Moorland Road I can find my way from there" Christine said as they neared her destination. Her saviour's jaw clenched. Christine must have flinched involuntarily as he seemed to force himself to relax and nod.

With shaky hands, she fumbled for her purse.  
"what are you doing?! Put that away, don't be so stupid" he barked. Christine almost dropped her purse. He had been so quiet up until now. The driver and her rescuer exchanged a look via the rear-view mirror.

He cleared his throat. "I meant to say, that's very thoughtful of you but there's no need. We're just glad you're safe."

Christine swallowed. That safe-ish feeling she had had with him in the café was now gone. He was scary and she wanted to go home and cry herself to sleep.

They pulled up outside sainsburys on Moorland road, and the two men turned to her expectantly.

"um. Thank you. I wish you would let me- "

"no no, that's fine" The driver spoke for the first time, with a thick but unidentifiable accent.

"Please let us know when you get in safely. Here is my card". He handed her a business card from his pocket. _A student with business cards? How strange._ But after the night she had had, Christine barely gave it more thought than that.

In fact, she gave little thought to anything as she walked up the hill to her student house and let herself in. It was only in bed, safe, thinking over the events of the evening, that Christine twigged that the siren they heard was an ambulance on its way to help her would-be rapist. With an unusually venomous intent, she hoped the ambulance was too late.


	5. Chapter 5

AN **big thanks to 'Yours Anonymous' for a lovely review on the previous chapter. Glad you like the setting. Always great to hear from you, Masked Man 2 and all my other reviewers! So sorry that this has taken so long, im in second year of uni and assessments have just piled up and I've started dating someone (who, amusingly is called Rob and matches my description of him (blonde, confident, chilled out, stubbly) despite me creating the character before meeting him! A glitch in the matrix?) and basically life just took over, as it does! Hope you are all in excellent health and enjoying this lovely planet that we share. Yeah…its 2am so my brain is getting weird and just writing whatever. Anyway, y'all are here for some POTO, not my life story! Peace and love x**

 **Trigger warning: rape/violence**

Eric stirred. What was she doing now? She must be in shock. If he felt disturbed, to his very core, at the idea of someone violating such a sweet, sweet woman (AN no woman deserves to be raped of course, but this disturbed him more as he personally had witnessed the attempt and he was devoted to her). He hoped that his rather mild beating of that scumbag had caused him brain damage of some sort so that his dick wouldn't work and he stopped hurting women. Urgh.

Rolling out of bed, ignoring the mirror, Eric knew he owed Nadir an explanation. And he should probably tidy his room and do some creative writing work for his degree. But all Eric wanted to do was watch her, and check she was ok. Having driven around the one way system last night so that she didn't know they were neighbours, Eric had thus not heard Christine get in. The house would be empty, seeing as her blonde friend – Megan – was still at Spoons and Heather was staying at her parents' place. He longed to give her some shred of comfort, but a strange man prying into her business was the last thing Christine needed.

There were things to be done today – as with any other day- but Eric took advantage of these few moments of quiet in bed to reflect. If Nadir asked for an explanation for last night's lift, Eric would grant him none. It wasn't his business to tell about Christine's attack. He would just say she didn't feel well and leave it at that. Although the fact she went home wearing his coat would probably inspire Nadir to ask some romanticly inclined questions which Eric would sadly have to stamp out too.

Speaking of his coat, Eric mentally added that to his to do list. He liked the idea of her keeping it, wearing it, getting used to his smell. He could get another just like it with little effort.

Through the thin wall that separated them, Eric heard a noise of some sort. Surprise? Or pain? No. Mental anguish.

Peeping through the small hole that only he knew of, Eric saw that Christine had woken up, showered and was now in her underwear staring at herself in the mirror. Normally, he would look away right now, but what lay before him was not arousing in the slightest.

Whilst her bra and panties were admittedly very pretty – white with pink flowers and then plain black pants – Eric felt tears prick at his eyes and throat. She had bite marks and love bites – it made him sick to use the word 'love' seeing as what that man had done to her – tried to do- had been so devoid of that precious emotion. Her neck was decorated with them – and then her upper arms and wrists had finger shaped bruises blooming on the pale skin like fresh blood on snow.

There were no tears in her eyes. She simply took a good look, nodded and got dressed.

He wouldn't give her any music today. He knew she would feel obliged to sing it and pretend nothing was wrong. He would give her a break, much as his heart longed to hear her sweet melody, he ached more for the fact that she suffered. If he had been quicker, she would not have had a mark on her.

Fury rose in Eric's chest, rearing its head like an ugly dragon that coiled its spiky tail around his heart. Another man had marked his Christine. She was so pure, so beautiful. He knew from her talks with Meg that she was a virgin; never been kissed even. She just hadn't met the right person yet, that was what she had said. And from what Eric knew, she never touched herself either, although of that he couldn't be sure. And why shouldn't she, he admonished himself. Lots of healthy normal adults do.

He hoped and prayed, dreamed – even fantasised – over the idea that he could be 'the right person'. Or to have her first kiss, to touch her soft lips with his or even just his hand, rough with scars though it was.

He was not good for her. Too damaged, too angry. Marked.

Christine

 _You're marked, and that's ok. It will heal, and you are going to be fine. Nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to get upset over or tell anyone about. Your stranger beat the shit out of him, you got your justice._

Christine took a deep breath in and held it, letting it out slowly like an old balloon. The after affects of whatever she had been given seemed few – just some achiness and dehydration.

She would have to wear her hair down today, which meant it would need washing first. Putting on her dressing gown, Christine crept to the bathroom the three residents of their little house shared and pulled the chord for the shower to heat up. Perhaps the shower would wash away that dirty feeling from being out so late and wearing a stranger's coat and having someone's hands on her, which was not a feeling Christine was familiar with. Her virgin status didn't bother her in the slightest, and she wasn't looking for a boyfriend, but the events of last night would have pushed back any plans she might have had of doing so.

 _Stop thinking about it. It's done now. No point dwelling on it._

The shower did help – along with her familiar Rose Jam shower gel from Lush that Meg had got her for Christmas last year. It smelled so delicate and light, Christine would be sad when it ran out as she couldn't really justify the expense of buying it for herself when she could just get the 99p stuff from the Discount Store. Wrapping a towel around her head, turban style, and a pink flowery one around her body, Christine opened the door and turned off the light to make the short ten steps back to her room.

'Good morning Christine'. A familiar-ish voice made her clutch at her towel and squeal. It was Rob, Meg's…friend? Partner?

'Jesus fucking Christ Christine. What the fuck happened to you? Are you ok?' His blue eyes darted about her stocky form, taking in all the bruises and hickies.

'Yeah just…got a bit carried away, you know. In the bedroom' She murmured and shrugged, hoping that Meg hadn't blabbed that slenderman probably had a better love life than she.

'That looks sore, I hope you're alright. You'd tell me if someone was wrong, right?' His concern for her was touching. Christine totally forgot she was standing there in a towel.

'Um..Thanks. You're planning on being here a lot then?' She chuckled. It was rare for Meg to fix on someone so this was a nice development if it lasted.

Rob looked uncomfortable – an expression that didn't really fit his stubbly face.

'Sorry, I didn't mean..i just assumed..'

'that we were shagging, yeah. No we're um…just getting to know each other' he smiled, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

'Anyway it's cold down here so you best be getting dried off. Please take care of yourself'. He held her in his gaze seriously for a moment before heading for the bathroom, which was still steamy from her rosy smelling shower.

He totally had not bought her explanation but hopefully he wouldn't pry anymore or say anything to Meg. Christine wanted to forget the entire thing and she knew Meg would feel bad for making fun of her for being so 'drunk'.

Once dressed in a fairly high necked day dress with dark leggings and a complimentary scarf – everything hidden to perfection – Christine did an hour of work and then gave the kitchen a wipe down. On emptying the recycling – though it wasn't her turn – Christine hoped there would be some music for her but there was nothing. Remembering their other spot, she went out back to the other box and nothing again.

It had been a while since she had received anything from her mysterious musical benefactor. Perhaps they had lost interest. Even though it was silly, Christine couldn't help but slump a little. It was the only interesting thing going on in her life right now. All she had to look forward to today, having found nothing, was work for uni and maybe doing some old songs she had retrieved from her folder.

Shrugging off her disappointment, Christine turned to head downstairs when a familiar accent caught her attention. She couldn't place it but it seemed to be recent…from last night?

Oh dear God. What if it was the voice of her would be rapist? He had crooned disgusting things to her while he ripped open her blouse, biting her neck and squeezing her ass. Bile rose in her throat as she slammed the back door and ran to her room.

 _Block it, block it out. You can do this._ Her gaze fell on the coat of her saviour. What a stroke of luck that had been. Christine realised she was cold and put on the coat. It smelled like her saviour – a musky comforting scent. She must give it back to him soon. But for now she curled up in it on her bed, inhaling, and though it was twelve midday, she drifted into a gentle slumber.

Eric

Staring through his little peep hole, Eric felt a rush of pleasure when she seemed comforted by his scent. Slowly, through his gentle manipulations, she was becoming marked. She would be his.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you YoursAnonymous for your lovely review. I'm not a Rob fan either! I wrote the chapters in fairly quick succession so I'm glad you think they tie well. I'll do my best to keep that up!**

 **Shoutout to new followers blakeflynn17 (you're following my other one too?! Wow, thanks!) and Dkk5.**

 **And of course hello to those of you who have been here a while too. Thanks for all the support!**

 **I'm so so so so sorry that I haven't posted a chapter in a while, I went on holiday for two weeks and then the job hunt began, plus some health problems have cropped up so the past few weeks have been hectic, going to my uni home city, home home city and boyf's home city!**

'So you haven't been sleeping with him?' Christine asked, amazed.

Meg laughed. 'I guess I do have a reputation! No, we just sit in bed in our pants and watch movies together. I think I'm going to stop asking him to come over, I don't really feel much of a spark. We'd be okay as friends I guess but I don't know. He's very intense to talk to'. She shrugged her shoulders.

Christine bit her lip. It would be kind of rude of Meg to have strung Rob along like that – as a friend or as a lover – and then to just stop speaking to him. She thought he was actually quite nice! And he showed such concern at the bruises. _You just feel special because he noticed you, and that's a new and exciting thing for you_ Christine told herself darkly.

Pushing the negative thoughts from her mind, Christine asked Meg when Rob was next coming over.

'Not sure, why? Fancy watching a movie with us or having a Chinese?' Meg seemed pleased at the prospect, assuaging Christine's worries about butting in on her friend.

'Yeah that sounds nice, let me know when is good!' A smile on her face, Christine made herself a cup of tea and went back to her room. She didn't have any classes until five pm and she didn't have much work to do so she was sort of at a loss for what to do and she hated being idle.

 _You've not heard from your stranger in a while._ Christine went and checked the box by the back door – nothing was there. With disappointment, she sighed and decided to go to uni and do some work there, where she wouldn't be distracted.

Christine trundled down the path to commons, shoving her curly brown locks out of her face roughly. It was just starting to rain and she had her laptop with her, so she was eager to get her work handed in and get home before the potential storm started. It was very cloudy for May, but with the lambs running round the field that ran parallel to campus, there was no mistaking the season. The rain picked up significantly;Christine scowled and sped up. Suddenly, she was dry and in the shadow of someone who smelled like Lynx body spray.

'Hey what's the hurry? Stay a while' Rob chuckled. His closeness made her a bit uncomfortable following last week's attack but it was really raining quite heavily now.

'Oh hi! Thanks. I was worried my laptop was going to get wet'. Christine smiled up at him with genuine gratitude.

'No worries' he said, with a smile that reached his eyes. He was really a bit intense, like Meg had said.

'Which way are you headed? Let me be your shelter' _(AN – had to sneak a cheeky song lyric in there for the Lloyd-Webber fans!)._ He chuckled, though there wasn't really anything funny about his question.

'Just to commons to print off my essay and hand it in' she replied and waved a hand in the direction of the leaf-themed building.

They started walking at a leisurely pace, until Rob spoke again.

'I don't believe what you said about how you got those marks you know'. Christine stopped walking, shocked at his nonchalance. Her sleeve had slid up when she had pointed towards commons, but it must have been on his mind a while for him to decide that he didn't believe her explanation.

She hadn't told anyone because she hadn't wanted a fuss. Embarrassing as it was, she would rather Rob think of her as kinky than as a victim. But if he was going to ask her such questions out in public like this, it might be prudent to tell him quickly and then not speak about it again. Like ripping off a plaster.

But at the last minute, she crumbled.

'I lied because I'm not ready to talk about it. Please don't ask me again'. She sounded pitiful and she hated it. Rob said nothing, only nodded. But then, he stopped walking and stared into her eyes intensely.

'But – tell me-' he put his hand on her arm – 'are you safe now?'

Christine smiled sadly and nodded. They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence. But later, Christine's mind started whirling.

Was she safe? What if she was in danger and she didn't know it? She thought that a stranger leaving music for her was sweet and innocent. But what if it was actually something more sinister? What if – and this disturbed her most of all – what if she was being watched?

Eric

Christine arrived home at half past three, looking drained. There was nothing on her social media that implied she had had a bad day – in fact he would have thought she would be pleased to have handed in her assignment. And by the looks of it, she had a new umbrella. Although it looked quite expensive and Eric knew Christine would never have justified such an expense….it was borrowed then. A snarl of jealousy rolled up in his throat before he could stop it, though he knew it was irrational.

He should have been pleased that someone had kept her dry. But he wished it could have been him, holding the umbrella above them both, where he could smell her hair and press himself against her body. The thought made him want to compose or write some poetry or play his piano or…Eric rolled his eyes. Again? Really? Taking himself in hand and glancing at his locked door, he thought about her sweet smelling hair, her soft skin – or so he imagined – and the sound of her voice murmuring his name in ecstasy as he entered her.

It didn't take long to achieve his goal and with a small frown of distaste, Eric wiped the worst of it off with some tissues and then headed for the shower.

It was cold again, but he didn't mind. It was exhilarating to stand under the powerful stream of water and empty his mind, letting it fill with music. For her.

He would leave her something tomorrow, he decided. Something pretty and light, to lift her mood and hopefully take her mind off whatever was clearly troubling her.

As Eric walked back through the basement to his room, he passed Nadir's door, which was slightly ajar. Nadir listened to the radio often, as he needed to stay up to date with current events for his degree in Business Studies and Politics. The news was on, and the Southern-English accent announced that the man who had been beaten last week in an alley on St James Street had died of his injuries following complications.

Eric knew instantly that this was the man he had beaten following the attempted attack on Christine. The night she had glimpsed his face and not run away in fear, perhaps paralyzed by it to run, or the drugs prevented her legs from working the way she wished them to. Or maybe, she hadn't seen enough. But a small part of Eric was hopeful enough to entertain the notion – however briefly, that maybe she hadn't minded. Any rescuer would have been welcome given the alternative.

There was no part of him that cared that he had killed someone. The chances of getting caught were unlikely. He had almost killed someone before, in a bar fight many years ago. This was no new concept. He had always known, since seeing her that first day, that he would both die and kill for Christine. She was perfect in every way and anyone that attempted to infringe on her happiness deserved to have his wrath come down upon them.

That first day, the first time he saw her face, was the day she moved in. It was the 6th of October, 2015, and it was raining. Her mother had driven her from Cardiff in a blue, battered old ford focus. The car was full of her things – a shelving unit that they would have to put together, books upon books, clothes, photographs of friends from back home that she would later realise that she would never speak to again. She had gone through the front door to collect her keys, but like Eric's place, her room was not street level and located in what they all referred to as the basement, though it was the same level as the garden. So once she had the keys for that external door that led down some steps from the street directly into her room, the two of them, Christine and her mother, unloaded the car down those stairs. Before deciding where to unpack her things, they located the two plug sockets in the room and took them into account. And thus, the small hole through which Eric could observe this tender beauty was uncovered when they moved the wardrobe out from in front of it.

'There's a hole in the wall here I think Chrissie' her mother had said, peering through it. Eric had flattened himself against his wall, heart racing.

'Oh yeah. I'll get some plaster and cover it over I guess'. Christine was nervous about moving so she was all about solutions; she refused to let anything phase her as she would soon burst into tears.

So the next day, armed with some plaster from the local hardware store, Christine peered through the hole. And Eric saw the most beautiful eye – green with hazel and tawny flecks near the centre, so innocent and inquiring. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And after, he knew he had to see them again and again until he had his fill, but knew that he never would. God knew what he would do if she moved away, or when they graduated in two years' time.

Later that night, he couldn't stand it any longer. She had gone out to the pub with her new housemates and come back a little tipsy, humming to herself as she got ready for bed. How was he supposed to sleep when this nymph was next door? Knowing what he was doing was incredibly illegal, immoral and intrusive, Eric grabbed a pencil and poked the plaster away, just a small hole. He prayed she would forget and not notice it. And notice it she did not.

Rob

Shaking his blonde hair out of his eyes, Rob tried to concentrate on the task before him. This essay was due in two weeks' time and so far all he had done was do the reading for it, which was not as far along with it as he would have liked to have been. He just couldn't get Christine off his mind. Things with Meg had long fizzled out – not that there had been much fizzle in the first place. They would just strip down to their pants, thinking maybe to blow off some steam, but there was just no desire there. She was attractive, sure enough, but for some reason she just didn't arouse him. Perhaps because there was no love there, although he had been with someone outside of a relationship before – but whatever the reason, there was just no spark, and every time they would just laugh and watch a movie. The one time he did get an erection it was not mentioned; they were too far gone as friends to sleep together by that point.

But Christine interested him. She was pretty in an unconventional way – not someone you would notice if you walked past, but if you looked, her eyes had a way about them and her smile, though her teeth were none too straight, was infectious. He wanted to speak to her again, she made him feel good.

He would ask for Meg's advice on where he could run in to her again, it was too early to ask her on a date. But this new prospect made him smile, and with a course of action decided on, Rob could finally work on his essay.

Christine

Music had appeared again. It was an easy enough piece, which made Christine wonder what the point of it all was. She was enjoying building up her repertoire, and had no desire to perform, but the anonymous nature of these gifts was starting to concern her. Her encounter last week showed her that it was not always safe to assume the best about people and situations.

So this time, Christine did not take the music. She left it where it had been put for her, on top of a plastic box in front of the house. Rain was scheduled and she was going to stay home from class in case whoever was leaving the music knew her movements. Surely they wouldn't let the music get wet after going to all the trouble of putting it there. It was in a plastic wallet but of course, the top portion would be soaked through if English rain was to be relied on.

After standing at the window as long as she had the patience to, Christine turned around just to flip the kettle on, and when she turned back again, the music was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

AN IM SORRY ITS BEEN SO LONG 3

As fast as her chubby little frame would allow, Christine raced outside and tried to catch a glimpse of her musical benefactor. She saw a hooded figure wearing dark converse scale the fence in a swift movement that Christine thought was only possible in Die Hard movies, and that was all.

She stood there, heart beating like a rabbit's, exhilarated and afraid. Who on earth was this person – this man, as he seemed to be. Before her attack, Christine, who loved to see the best in people, would have thought it lovely to have a mysterious person leaving her music in her back garden. A charming English fairy tale, almost. But now, now that she knew that darkness was everywhere, she felt violated.

ERIC

He crouched flat against his own garden fence, not knowing whether or not she still stood there, staring after the space he once occupied. Did she know that he was there? He hoped not. He never wanted them to meet this way, with him acting like a criminal, hiding from her. He wanted romance and harps and bells and flowers and all the nice things in the world for their first meeting, not this.

Electricity hung in the air, crisp and crackling. Would she detect him? The minutes ticked by, agonisingly slow. Two or three of went by, slowly slowly. When would she give up and go back inside? Still he waited there, wondering what would happen to break this, the most tense moment he had ever experienced…

'Eric? What on earth are you doing?' Nadir had come out of the back door and stood staring at him, metres away from Christine with only a shoulder height fence between them.

Eric hissed in frustration and motioned with his hands to _be quiet_. Nadir looked baffled and appeared to lock eyes with Christine.

'Oh hello. You're the girl I gave a lift to last week. I didn't realise we lived next door to each other?'

Christine probably swallowed and cast him a look, for Nadir withered slightly.

'I got you to drop me off down the road so that you and your friend wouldn't know where I lived. I should buy the two of you a drink to say thank you…sorry but didn't you just talk to someone by the fence? I think they may have left something in my garden'.

Nadir looked tense. There was nothing for it.

Eric stood up and took his hood down.

'Yes. Um..hello'.

'So it's you then, is it?' She asked, with her left eyebrow raised. She did not seem to make much of him. She looked right into his eyes.

'uh..' Eric was lost for words. She was looking right at him. Christine, the woman he had loved from afar, looking right at him, with that look on her face, one she reserved for housemates who did not buy toilet paper when it was their turn. Nothing more. Just slight annoyance. No sign of disgust or mistrust because of his scars.

'I think you had better come in for a chat, don't you?'

Into her house! With her! Her house!

'Okayyy' Eric drew out the sound for the sake of not having to think of extra words to say. He was behaving like a total idiot but this was just not at all what he planned and what if, now that they were finally meeting, she hated him or didn't like his music or worse, what if she bestowed on him things he did not deserve from her considering the fact that he was basically a stalker and had seen her naked without her permission through a hole that he had poked in her wall. Oh boy, did that sound bad when you put it all together.

'Would you like to jump over the fence or come to the front door this time?' A wry smile crept onto her face.

Nadir looked totally confused, something that seemed to be becoming a common theme to him today.

'Right..well I've got something in the oven so I'll just go and do that…' He withered indoors with an awkward wave at Christine and shot a scathing look at Eric for whatever he had just got him into.

CHRISTINE

He jumped the fence with the grace of a tiger, and landed on his feet just as softly. She could barely believe he was real, this mysterious, scarred man who left her music and probably listened to her sing – seeing as he was next door.

Inside, with a hot cup of tea in her hands, Christine felt a little more vulnerable. He was in her sacred space now, her little kitchen with its toast crumbs and burnt hob rings.

'I'm not really sure where to start. I guess with your name?'

'Eric'.

'Hi Eric'. She waved pathetically.

'Hi. I-' he began just at the same time as she did. She faltered, then started again, and then they sat and sipped their drinks.

Then Eric spoke.

'So I've been leaving music in your garden and listening to you sing. You're very good…' he trailed off. Christine swallowed.

'Thanks. It's just a hobby though'. Eric nodded, looking like he wanted to say more.

'But why? Why me?'

He changed his grip on the mug. He seemed to be calculating each word, scrutinising her reaction, though shying away from actual eye contact. The whole situation was so weird.

'I'm not sure. You moved in and you were – are, I should say – very pretty and unique and I guess I got a bit carried away'.

Christine blushed furiously. No one had said that before. Pretty and unique. That was one way to describe the fact that she was clumsy and odd.

'I'm not sure I understand…the music started before we met last week. Did you just happen to be in that alley when that man was-'

'Christine'. He said her name in such hushed tones it stopped her in her tracks. She hadn't really wanted to say the words 'trying to rape me' anyway. She might have cried again and she certainly didn't want to look vulnerable in front of this stranger who clearly thought she was so wonderful.

'I didn't intend for us to meet like this'. He was started to unnerve her.

'So you did intend for us to meet?'

He took a sip of his tea, frowning. He seemed under great distress. The way his scars moved with his face interested her. He must suffer them so much, they really were quite bad. Had he been attacked too?

'Yes, I suppose I did. But somewhere darker perhaps' he grimaced and gestured towards his face. Impulsively, she put a timid hand on his.

'Don't say that. Please go on. I want to know everything… I'm so confused. You have been leaving me music because you like me…' he nodded, so she went on: 'and you just happened to be there when I was in danger…is that what you meant by a dark place? You set that up so that you could save me and we could meet?' She retreated her hand slowly, and watched his face fall. It was a logical explanation.

Christine had never seen a man pale so quickly. There was a knock at the door right then, which Christine ignored. Had this man, sitting across from her in her little student house sent an attacker after her to be her knight in shining armour? The door was knocked again.

'I think you should answer that' Eric said through clenched teeth.

'I will. But this isn't over. I need the truth, Eric'. Christine set her tea down a little too hard, sloshing some on the table and going to answer the door.

Rob was there, smiling away like always.

'Hi Christine, is Meg in?...Are you okay?' His smile faltered for a second on sensing her mood.

'Yeah I'm fine thanks just having one of those days. She's in her room'. Rob let himself in as she went back to the kitchen.

'Eric?'

He was stood at the sink with his back to her, a cloth in his hand. He had wiped up the tea she spilled.

'Eric? Is it true then?' She bit her lip, trying not to cry. She wouldn't cry in front of this man, this stalker.

He turned around, and she saw tears glistening on his face.

'How…' He shuddered and took a shaky breathe.

'How can you think that I could do that to you?... Let another man near you, hurt you even?' Christine was taken aback. She had never seen a man cry before. He looked like a big baby, albeit one that had been in a knife fight. Her heart softened.

'I'm sorry I just…I'm just trying to make sense of everything…I'm so confused'.

'Please…can I hold you?'


	8. Chapter 8

AN: this is really really short but I wanted to at least upload something. Will write more soon. Thanks

 **CHAPTER 8**

'Please…can I hold you?'

The words escaped from Eric's mouth before he could stop them. He sounded like a baby and he hated it. But she was here, she was really here in front of him, fighting back her own tears, trying to make sense of it all. He caused this.

'I..I don't know if that would be a good idea. With the way things are.'

'You don't believe me. You think I sent a man to _rape you_ so that we could meet'. He spat the words that she had refused to speak, maybe even refused to think, and it was her undoing.

She ran at him, wailing like a banshee, hitting at him feebly.

'Shhh, shhh. Let it out Christine' he whispered, though she was still wailing and fighting him. It didn't hurt, but it was agony.

'I…just…wanted…to have -' hiccup- 'fun…for once –' hiccup. 'But…I guess…-sniff- I was easy prey….'

'Christine I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it, you weren't ready. I'll go'. He gently lifted her arms off his chest, where they were now resting, pushing his back into the sink a little.

She hiccupped and sniffed again, then shook her head and removed herself from him.

'No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't'–sniff- 'I shouldn't have accused you of that. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault that that man decided to drug me and try to…try to rape me.'

A noise behind the two made them turn around in a kind of weary alarm, both of them exhausted from their heartache.

'Christine?! Why didn't you tell me?' Meg, Christine's housemate looked shocked and hurt, a hand to her mouth. A short-ish blonde man with glasses was also unfortunately right behind her and said nothing, only clenched his jaw tightly.

Eric swallowed, not caring that he had just cried.

While Meg started ratting at Christine for not telling her what was going on in her life anymore, Eric quietly washed a couple of mugs that were lying in the sink.

They were still arguing – or more, Meg was still talking, - when he silently slipped out of the room, and back to his own house.


End file.
